A Midnight Return
by CassanderRoshack
Summary: Sherlock comes back from the his crusade of stopping the people of Moriarty. He finds himself standing outside of John's apartment wondering what it was worth to go in, he finds something that he wishes he could have stopped. Johnlock and past love mentions but no sex. John went a little mad. Sherlock being human. Have some tissues ready.


p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14.4444446563721px; line-height: 17.5559997558594px;"Sherlock was waiting. He wasn't entirely sure why, he felt like he had been waiting forever. Now that Moriarty's men were either dead or imprisoned, Sherlock at least felt like he was free. He stood outside John's new flat- having already checked 221B a few hours ago. It didn't take long to track down an old Army doctor with a bum leg by the name of Watson. He'd been standing there for nearly an hour having an internal war with himself regardless of the time wasted looking for him in the first place. Molly said John was serious with his new girlfriend- was even thinking about proposing. John was moving on and far faster than he was. Did he have a right to encroach on him? Especially after so long? He didn't know, and that feeling unsettled him more than he would like to admit. And so he waited, staring up at John's flat window./p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14.4444446563721px; line-height: 17.5559997558594px;"Unbeknownst to Sherlock, John was not nearly as serious as Molly had let on. His girlfriend was screaming at him at this very moment, packing her things into a suitcase and yelling about his leg. He knew it was psychosomatic and she certainly didn't need to tell him that. "You can't do shit without limping around. You think you are so fucking cool with your jumpers and you alcohol and your absolute bollox!" She yelled before taking her trench coat and scarf from the hook and bursting out the door. Her short dark hair was in a mess and she flicked him a bird on her way out. John wasn't sure he should stop her this time. He waited at the door, hearing her heels hit the staircase like hooves of an angry beast- which she was very similar to that when she was angry with him./p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14.4444446563721px; line-height: 17.5559997558594px;"Sherlock leapt backwards as a furious woman stormed out of the flat and hurtled herself into a cab that had been on a smoke break around the corner. He stared a bit nonplused at it as it took off around the corner, shocked momentarily into stillness. Sherlock glanced back at John's flat. The door was still open. He cautiously approached the open entryway, standing, frozen in the doorway before pushing the door open with long thin fingertips. It was warm inside the house- he would claim his human nature attracted him inside simply because of the heat./p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14.4444446563721px; line-height: 17.5559997558594px;"John did not move from his spot for a few moments, turning back to the living room. He stared at the fire, a beer cold in his hand. His dark circles under his eyes were tells of how little he slept anymore and how horrid the nightmares had gotten. He could hear the street noise below, meaning Cassie had left the door open... again. He neither cared nor wanted to close it. He heard someone coming up the stairs and assumed it was his landlord. John sighed, "I've paid the rent, Richard. Cassie left so you can stuff the noise complaint up-" He didn't turn nor was he planning to. He sat still, angry at the world around him and everyone in it. With his chair's back turned, Sherlock reached a hand in and knocked softly. Perhaps a polite approach would be the best in this situation, "I'm sure you have. You were always good at paying the rent on time. Though it would seem you've let yourself go a bit, in other ways."/p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14.4444446563721px; line-height: 17.5559997558594px;"John froze in his seat, his eyes felt like they had widened enough to pop out and roll away. em'That son of a- Oh, he better be a ghost.'/em He nearly screamed in his head. The doctor stood up and turned slowly, hoping his ears were… what did he hope? Did he want to be wrong and be disappointed yet again? Or did he want to be right relive all those painful memories and realize he'd been lied to for years? Sherlock swallowed, his pale face lit from the firelight. His blue eyes were focused on John. He hadn't bothered to cut his hair in a few months. His shirt was clean amazingly and his hair was uncombed and wild in a mass of curls. Bruising and a rather large bit of bandaging on him. "Hello John…" He whispered knowing that he would most likely be getting a very harsh left hook for this treachery./p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14.4444446563721px; line-height: 17.5559997558594px;"The doctor fell. He didn't have strength in his legs anymore. The bottle that had been in his hand clattered to the ground and his vision blurred enough that he thought he was about to pass out. "Oh god, you became the grim reaper. I knew you were fascinated by death but I never thought you'd come for me one day. What, did I finally die of sleeplessness?" He let out a shaky laugh, trying to keep the angelic face of Sherlock in his view. That was what happened, Sherlock was really dead. He became a grim reaper and came to drag him to hell for not saving him./p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14.4444446563721px; line-height: 17.5559997558594px;""What on Earth are you on about?" Sherlock was in the flat in a moment, next to John, trying to pull him up. "Have you gone mad? There's no such thing as grim reapers, for one thing. For another I'm not dead, I was never dead. Not to mention you are drunk." The putrid smell made him nearly drop him. He helped him from the floor to the couch. John looked up at him with alcohol glazed eyes. "See? You are dead. Because you're cold." John knew he wasn't drunk yet, he'd have to have three more drinks for that to happen. Nor did he realize that it was snowing outside. "I'm not mad. You are dead. I saw you jump." Sherlock sighed, "I'm cold because it is the middle of winter and I've been standing outside for an hour. I'm not dead. Even though I did jump, I didn't die. It was… a magic trick."/p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14.4444446563721px; line-height: 17.5559997558594px;"John looked up at him with blurred eyes. "You had no pulse. I tried to help. Bring you back. They wouldn't let me through the crowd. Why did you make me watch that, Sherlock… Why did you j-jump…" Tears started coming down and he clutched at Sherlock's clothing. "I've been through wars and I've never been hurt that badly before…" He stuttered out the last few words. "It was a magic trick, John. I… I did try to tell you. I had to die, or at least appear dead. There was no choice." John couldn't concentrate. "You bastard, you have any idea what you did to me?" He choked and hugged the man. "You kept dying, even in the daydreams…" Sherlock felt his chest tighten and he patted him on the back, unsure if an embrace would make the situation better. em'You nearly killed him…'/em The once detective thought to himself as John shivered in his arms. "I had to… I had to… Moriarty's web needed to be stopped."/p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14.4444446563721px; line-height: 17.5559997558594px;""Just… drag me to hell already…" He laid his head on Sherlock's chest. "You died, damn it. No pulse, no breath, I HELD your HAND when they carted you away! You jumped off the fucking roof and had me WATCH. I couldn't save you! I loved you more than anything, damn it!" He shook Sherlock before letting go and stepping away from him. Tears still in his eyes he walked to the window. Putting his head against it, he tried to actually make conversation that was rational. "Why didn't you contact me afterward?" The entire last few minutes were very irrational. "I couldn't. You couldn't know. They would have killed you if they had known. It was easier to let you move on and think I was dead just in case something did happen. It was safer for you not to know-." John threw a lamp across the room, shattering it against the wall before turning back to the window. "DAMN MY SAFETY!" He growled out, "Where did you go?"/p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14.4444446563721px; line-height: 17.5559997558594px;"Sherlock suddenly swallowed, not with fear of being hurt but the fear of what John would do to himself, "Nearly everywhere. Moriarty had people in almost thirty-two countries. I traveled… quite a bit. Used different allies until I finished it." He watched the doctor. "You couldn't leave something anonymously? Hell, left your damn hat at the doorstep or something?" He sighed rubbing his eyes, still not completely believing he was alive or that he was standing only a few feet behind him. "I tried… once. I had someone slip you a note, a friend of a friend, was supposedly supposed to slip a note into your pocket. After that I discovered that you were being watched. If you had known I'd lived…" He shook his head. He couldn't bring himself to say it./p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14.4444446563721px; line-height: 17.5559997558594px;""They would have killed me. Is that the only reason why you did it? Jumped off the bloody roof because you tried to keep me safe? I found Moriarty. Lestrade didn't believe a moment you were a fraud after that. He even punched Anderson in the face after he made a comment about he was glad you were gone." He whispered feeling tears starting to dry. The sanity was slowly returning but the rigidness to him didn't go away. "I never stopped… believing… even when you told me to…" The phone conversation was etched into his mind like a burning scar. "Not just you would have been killed, John," he said, in a toneless voice. "Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade… Moriarty had a back up plan. Snipers." He shook his head. "It would have been easier if you'd believed me." John wiped his face with his hand. "No… I would have still felt like someone ripped out my heart and thrown it off a building." John laughed humorlessly./p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14.4444446563721px; line-height: 17.5559997558594px;""Why did you come back Sherlock? I'm sure there was plenty of other that you had to see or hell, you most likely found someone else to be your 'friend'." John picked up the bottle on the floor and tossed it in the rubbish bin. "I came back because it was finished. And I was tired of living a lie, rather ironically, since that is what I was accused of in the first place. I had to be accused of being a fraud to become one and then to clear my name and yours by extension. And, I thought you'd want to know. From me, before the news hits the media. Which it will. Soon." John had run out of tears completely by this time, he slid down the wall taking in Sherlock, piece by piece. He hadn't changed. "Oh yes, I'd have loved to see the broadcast. 'Sherlock Holmes! Alive and kicking!'" He snorted sitting entirely. "I don't know whether to tell you to go to hell and leave or kiss me and stay here or… or just… I don't know." Sherlock knelled in front of him, the most sorrow filled eyes that John had seen. Perhaps this was a hallucination. Because Sherlock didn't look like that- not even for him./p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14.4444446563721px; line-height: 17.5559997558594px;""I'll do whatever ask me to do, John. I'll do it, no questions or rebuttal. Just please understand that I am… very… very sorry." Sherlock said, he didn't know if he could reach out and touch the man. He wanted to repeat the apology. John had gotten underneath his skin- not even his own family had managed to break through. John was different and he had destroyed him. "Do you… have a place to stay?" John whispered, his eyes closed as he leaned against the wall. Sherlock cleared his throat, "I spoke to Mrs. Hudson briefly, she told me where you were. She wants me to come back. Supposedly she misses us…" John opened his darkened eyes to look at him, "Just… don't go away again." John said softly and Sherlock took him into his arms, not caring if he smelt like an alcohol store. "If that's what you want. I'll stay."/p 


End file.
